


Fighting For the New World (That Would Rise Up Like the Sun)

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Celeborn is like 'these elflings are mine' and everyone else is like 'yeah aight fine', Hurt Thranduil, which means anything goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-17 01:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20612834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: The Battle Under the Trees does not go as well as the stories say





	1. Where's That New World (When the Fighting's Done)?

**Author's Note:**

> It has been forever since I've written anything for LOTR so omfg. Here have this thing.
> 
> Fic and chapter titles taken from Turning - Les Mis. 
> 
> For this fic, Oropher is the son of a third son of Galadhon, making Celeborn Oropher's uncle, and Thranduil's Great Uncle, though they normally refer to each other as 'cousin' for simplicity's sake.

The Elven-king of Mirkwood, the Last Elven-King East of the Sea, is missing. His kinsman is missing in the aftermath of their greatest battle since the Last Alliance. When the fighting had concluded and the cheers had rent the air, the realization had been sudden that there was one voice of all of theirs that should have sounded but didn’t. In that moment, he’d felt his heart shrivel in his chest. To have come this far and to be lost now.

The trees around them are dead and burned and will be no help in locating the missing king. They will have to locate him the old-fashioned way. So, he stiffens his upper lip and begins the thankless task of walking amongst the dead, searching for survivors, and searching for one specific face amongst a sea of familiar faces.

Many of these elves were counted as Survivors of Doriath, like he and Thranduil, and while they may have escaped the axes of the dwarves and the swords of the Feanorians; they could not escape the savagery of the forces of Darkness. He looks at each one and prays with everything that he is that Thranduil will not now be included in their number, too.

Ai, Merciful Nienna, what is he going to tell Legolas? What is he going to tell Taeglin?

* * *

He doesn’t know how long he has been walking among the dead, he can only guess based upon the fact that night is now beginning to fall. He’s stumbled across a good number of survivors, and while he’s pleased to see them, none of them are the person he hopes desperately to see and none of them have a single word to say of his kinsman.

“Come on, elfling, give me something!” he pleads under his breath, desperate for any sign of his quarry.

_“Here!” _a tiny voice calls in the back of his mind, so quiet he almost misses it.

“Where?” he calls, spinning in place, careful of the bodies scattered about him.

_“Here! Here! Here!” _the voice repeats, over and over again, sending vague sense of directions to him. Trees do not experience the world the same way they do. Celeborn clenches his fists and follows the little voice, stepping where it tells him, until he finds the very first group of living trees. He looks around him and notes that the trees appear to have been far enough away from those that had burned, that the fire hadn’t been able to catch them. “_Over here.”_ He hears the voice again and turns towards it, to find a young beech moving its leaves.

“Thranduil!” Celeborn yells, breaking into a run and falling to his knees beside the newly revealed Elven-king. His cousin doesn’t react at all to his voice or the touch of his fingers, even as Celeborn’s heart beats painfully in his chest. “Wake up, elfling. It’s time to wake up.” He murmurs, gently caressing his cousin’s face, but there is still no reaction. He feels for a pulse at the neck and almost slumps with relief when he feels one, but alive _today_ means nothing if his cousin will not be alive _tomorrow_. He takes a deep breath in and appraises his kinsman, his eyes immediately landing on the vicious hole in his cousin’s armour, over his gut, the metal turned inward, and soaked with blood, the wound is still sluggishly bleeding. He sucks in a breath, pulls the king up into his arms and climbs to his feet, before he’s running as quickly as he can back the way he came.

* * *

_“I don’t want to sleep.” The elfling mumbles, the sound muffled against his chest. _

_“It’s late, Thranduil. Time for all the little elflings to be in bed.” He says, bouncing the boy a little in his arms. _

_“But-“_

_“Your sister is already fast asleep, tithen pen. What’s keeping you awake?” he queries, entering the elfling’s room and gently settling him on the bed. _

_“When are Ada and Nana coming back?” the boy queries, scrambling under his blankets when Celeborn pulls them back. _

_“I’m not certain, penneth. They will be back when they are back and not a moment sooner.” He murmurs, sitting down on the bed and tucking the boy back in. _

_“They will come back, though, won’t they?”_

_“Of course! You don’t think they’ve abandoned you, do you?” he queries with a raised eyebrow, the boy scrunches up his face and shrugs his shoulders. “Your parents love you very much, Thranduil, and they will be back with you as soon as they possibly can be, alright?” _

_“Alright. Can I have a story?” _

_“Of course, penneth! You can have any story you like.” _

_“Can you tell me about Cousin Thingol and Melian?” _

_“Whatever you like, penneth.” He promises, before launching into the story of how their king and queen met._

* * *

“Cousin?” he startles at the voice, almost tripping and planting them both in the earth before he catches himself.

“Elfling.” He murmurs, glancing just for a second at the elf cradled in his arms, the elven-king has his eyes open, barely. “You know, you’re too big, really, for me to be carrying you around, still.” His cousin laughs, but the sound is horrible and quickly turns into terrible coughing. He says nothing of the horrific warmth that he feels suddenly splattered against his cheek, instead, he breathes in deeply and only _just _refrains from becoming a babbling mess. “Go to sleep, elfling. The time for talking will come later.” His cousin must listen to him because he’s suddenly limp in his arms once again.

* * *

_The fighting is so horrific he knows he is going to be dreaming of it for many years to come. This was their sanctuary, this was their home, their safety away from the darkness of the world, and the darkness is here, they let it in. _

_The scramble for freedom is as chaotic as the fighting, he needs to find his charges quickly, or they will all be lost. Oropher had been across the city when things had gone pear shaped, of the two of them, he is closest to where the little ones should be. He can only be thankful that his wife is off visiting her family, or she would be caught up in this as well. _

_He finds the door to Oropher’s family chambers blasted open and he feels his heart clench in his chest. If the little ones are dead, he doesn’t know what he will do. They are so young, far too young to have their lights snuffed out. _

_He bursts into the antechamber and finds everything quiet, except for two little voices coming from Oropher and Ranneth’s room, the door ajar._

_“Nana, wake up, nana!” _

_“Why won’t she wake up, Thranduil?” _

_“I don’t know. Nana, you have to wake up, now!”_

_He sucks in a breath and prepares himself as best he can for whatever will greet him on the other side, before he pushes open the door. Watches as Thranduil scrambles up onto his feet, a sword far too big for him held in his hand as he shoves his sister behind him, a look of burning hatred on his face and smouldering in his eyes, before both of the children recognize him. _

_“Celeborn!” Taeglin exclaims, running past Thranduil and all but throwing herself into his arms when Celeborn kneels down before her. He looks behind Thranduil and sighs in sadness at the sight; Ranneth has closed her eyes to the world for the last time. _

_“Come here, penneth.” He murmurs, holding out his arm to Thranduil, who hesitates for a moment, before dropping the sword and all but launching himself into Celeborn’s arms, sobbing his little heart out. _

_“Nana won’t wake up!” the elfling sobs, the words sounding like they’re torn from his throat. _

_“I know, little one, I know. We have to get out of here now, alright? Your nana has gone beyond the suffering of this world, but we are not safe here.” _

_“But-“_

_“No, we have to go, Thranduil.” Celeborn commands, hugging them both so tightly before pulling back and standing up. He looks at the sword Thranduil had been carrying, recognizes it as Ranneths’ and he shakes his head, it is still too big for Thranduil to hold, let alone to wield, but it might be the only thing of Ranneth’s they can take from this place, so he picks it up, finds the sheath for it and attaches it to his belt before sheathing it. “Here.” He murmurs, pulling out two of his daggers and handing one to each of the children. “I will protect you, but if you must, you will use these to defend yourselves. Defend. Only. Do you hear me?” _

_“Yes, cousin!” Taeglin agrees easily, ever eager to please, but Thranduil scowls at him, before glancing back at his naneth, and giving a tense nod._

_“Good. Come on then.”_

* * *

“Valar, you found him!” he startles, again, at the voice and finds Galion suddenly in front of him.

“Aye, I did. Where has his tent been set up?” he queries, looking around, Galion places a gentle hand on his arm and leads him through the camp, to the King’s tent, all the while shouting for a healer as he goes. They reach the tent before the healers reach them, and the both of them make swift work settling Thranduil in the makeshift bed, just as the healers arrive. Celeborn forces himself to stand back, to let them in to do their jobs, but it takes almost everything that he has.

“He’s strong, he’ll be fine.” Galion says, but he’s not sure if it's for his benefit, or both of theirs.

“He’s stubborn, just like his father and the rest of our family.” He murmurs, watching the healers swarming around the king. He rubs his hand over his face and almost collapses from exhaustion and would have if Galion wasn’t so quick to steady him, only for a moment, though, before the other elf is shoving him down into a chair.

“I need… I need to send a message to Legolas.” Galion mutters, his eyes rooted on the sight of his king, his friend and Celeborn can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away, either.

“Must you?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“He’d want to be here, especially if- well, he’d want to be here.” Galion answers, shaking his head. “I have to send a message.”

“Send one to Taeglin in Lorien, then, also.” He murmurs, and Galion nods, before squeezing Celeborn’s shoulder and ducking out of the tent, leaving Celeborn to watch as the healers do everything within their power to save his kinsman.

* * *

_The screaming is terrible, he’s not certain he’ll ever stop hearing the sound. _

_He’s losing feeling in his hand and he can’t find the will to be concerned since the elfling is in far worse shape than he is. He wishes Elrond would hurry, but even that won’t do anything for the elfling squeezing his hand like it is his only lifeline. _

_“Where is Elrond?” he snaps at Galion, who shakes his head, his eyes looking so haunted as he looks down at Thranduil. “What possessed the pair of you to think you could kill a dragon?” _

_“It wasn’t planned!” Galion hisses back, his voice so full of emotion that Celeborn can’t help but believe him. “We were just playing and then suddenly the dragon was there! It was all we could do to send the message through the trees before everything was suddenly on fire.” _

_“I understand.” He mutters, rubbing at his face with his free hand. “What happened to Thranduil?” _

_“He knew our chances were slim and of the two of us, I’m the better archer so he…” the young elf, pauses and closes his eyes, sucking in a breath. “He distracted the dragon, to give me the shot I needed. I took it, Celeborn. You have to believe me. The moment I could, I took it!” _

_“I believe you, Galion. You two are like brothers, I know you wouldn’t hurt him on purpose, or let him be hurt without reason.” Celeborn soothes, though he wants to scream at them both for being so careless that they let a _dragon _catch them unawares. _

_“It should have been me.” _

_“Don’t even start that nonsense, elfling. It shouldn’t have been either of you, but we must deal with what has happened, there is no good wasting time on ‘should have been’s.” he scolds, looking up when he hears a commotion at the treeline and breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Elrond. ”I’m not moving.” He tells the healer, as they sink to their knees beside him. _

_“Stay exactly where you are, I’m going to knock him out.”_

* * *

A familiar presence settles beside him and pulls him gently from his memories, he sighs and blinks the past away, to look upon his beautiful wife.

“I should send for Elrond.” She says, sinking down into the chair beside his, both of them turning to look at Thranduil, sleeping the sleep of the drugged and injured, the healers having long proclaimed they’ve done everything they can and leaving to tend to the other injured.

“He is too far away to be any help.” He replies, climbing to his feet to move his chair closer, so he can gently brush Thranduil’s hair out of his face. He hears his wife sigh behind him, before she moves her chair to Thranduil’s other side, sinking back down into it.

“He’ll be fine, meleth.” She murmurs, watching him with such sorrow he finds he can’t look at her. Celebrian is his little darling, but before she ever came along, he had Thranduil and Taeglin, his great-nephew and great-niece, who were the children of his heart. With Oropher and Ranneth gone from the world, Celeborn has done everything he could to be the guiding force in their lives.

“He’s come too far, survived too much to be lost now.” He says, reaching down to take Thranduil’s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly. “He’s held back Sauron’s forces for millennia, meleth, with nothing but the force of his will, the strength of his people, and the stubbornness of our blood line. This one battle can’t be what kills him.”

“It was a single arrow that felled Oropher.” His wife points out, not to be cruel, but to be practical, as she always is.

“It was foolishness that felled Oropher and Amdir, both.” He counters, looking down as his nephew, trying to see beneath the glamour that Thranduil has wrapped so tightly around himself for thousands upon thousands of years, but he fails. He knows that beneath this image of flawless skin is the scarred body of one who fought against a dragon and barely lived to tell the tale. “Thranduil learnt his lesson on foolishness a long time ago.”

“So, he did.” His wife agrees with a little sigh. “I just wish his little prince had learnt his.”

“I imagine Legolas has learnt it now.” He answers, thinking of the horrified and grief-stricken elf that had come to them from Moria.

“I suppose that is true.”

“They’ve sent for him.” He admits, looking up at her, to see the frown that forms on her face.

“What of Taeglin?

“Galion has sent for her, as well.”

“I see.”

* * *

_He isn’t surprised to find that in the aftermath of the final battle, he returns to his tent that first night to find two blond haired elves kneeling in the middle of the floor, holding each other like there is nothing else left in the world but them. He sighs heavily at the sight of them and goes to join them on the floor. From Doriath, they are the only ones left of their little family.  
_

_“Come here, children.” He murmurs, as he pulls them into his arms. _

_“So many dead, because Ada was foolish!” Thranduil exclaims, his voice full of shock, anger, and so much sadness it steals Celeborn’s breath. None of them have mourned, there hadn't been time. Since Oropher fell, there was always more fighting, until now. _

_“We cannot know if the outcome would be different if they had waited.” He cautions, squeezing them both. “Don’t think of it like that, elfling. No plan ever survives the first engagement.” _

_“I know. I just wish… but there’s nothing for wishing, either.” Thranduil sighs, clenching his fingers tight in Celeborn’s cloak. “I will miss him.” _

_“He is with nana. He is at rest. I will miss him, but I am… happy for him.” Taeglin whispers, ever able to see the good in the darkest situation. He wonders how she has managed it, after seeing all the things that she has seen. He wishes, not for the first time, that she had chosen other pursuits than healing, so she might be home safe with his Celebrian. But she chose a hard path, and somehow still manages to find the time to smile like the world isn't ending around them.  
_

_“Come on, elflings. We’re all tired, we need our rest. Tomorrow is going to be just as long as today.” He murmurs, ushering them up and onto the furs doubling as his bed. There is no use sending them away, they have come in search of the only comfort to be found in this cursed land. So, he holds them both close and prays that the days ahead will be better.  
_


	2. A Thrill of Hope (A Weary World Rejoices)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the flashbacks were in order until this chapter, I'm so annoyed now but I couldn't leave the flashback of babby Calabrien out... 
> 
> Was planning to do this entire fic in Celeborn's pov, but I think the next chapter will actually be Legolas' pov or Thran's... hmmm. 
> 
> Also, today's writing was actually supposed to be for my Shadowhunters/Good Omens/Doctor Who fic, bit I got injured this morning and decided I was gonna write this fic instead...
> 
> Additionally, I don't know why, but whenever I write Taeglin, she almost always ends up married to Haldir and I do not know why. On the note of Haldir, for this fic, he and the elves did go to Helm's Deep and Haldir was injured but did not die in Aragorn's arms, instead, Aragorn saw Haldir fall and assumed he'd been killed...
> 
> Title from Tuning Out by Bastille

_He watches Celebrian toddle about on her little legs, Thranduil trailing after her, giggling and ready to catch her should she fall. It reminds him of the time in Doriath, when he would chase Thranduil and Taeglin about, while Oropher and Ranneth took a much needed break and blamed each other for the whole ‘twins’ thing, Oropher always won, seeing as Ranneth was a twin herself, and Oropher’s line hadn’t had any until their children were born. He's thankful twins do not run in Galadriel's bloodline, either. Celebrian is more than enough.  
_

_He watches his daughter discovering the world and wishes that he will be able to protect her, to shelter her from the truths of the world, but Thranduil and Taeglin taught him a long time ago that such is not possible. You can do your best, but eventually the truth will make itself known and there is nothing you can do to stop it. _

_He looks at his daughter and he knows that one day she will go out into the world without him and he just prays that someone will step in to protect her the way he did for his cousins._

* * *

The days following the battle seem to pass in a blur for Celeborn. Thranduil is awake sparingly and never long enough for anything more than a few quick reassurances that all is well. The healers are adamant that the king will live, but Celeborn has been told such before only for the relief to turn to ashes on his tongue. Galadriel takes over the task of making sure things in their camp are running smoothly and that word has been sent to both Thranduil’s Halls and Caras Galadhon that they have victory. He’d tried to help her but had kept finding his thoughts wondering back to the king, so his wife had sent him on his way with an amused smile on her face and roll of her eyes.

_"Go on, meleth, you are useless to me like this. Make sure the elfling is well."_

Taeglin arrives with as much excitement as she carries with her everywhere she goes. Thranduil is Oropher’s child to a fault, stubborn, quick tempered, and almost incapable of letting go of a grudge. But his sister is their mother reborn, bright, bubbly, and seemingly able to charm everyone she encounters, but it shouldn’t be assumed that she has no backbone. It was always Ranneth’s temper that sent elves scuttling away, not Oropher’s. Ranneth’s temper was cold and calculating and sometimes it was not obvious when she was mad until she had struck.

So, when the tent flaps are pulled aside and Taeglin steps through them with a very _specific _look in her eyes, Celeborn shudders and raises his hands in surrender.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t do it!” he pleads, as she all but glides across the room. She pauses, halfway, to frown at him, before bursting into laughter.

“Don’t worry, cousin, you are safe from my wrath.” She assures him, crossing to sink to her knees at her brother’s side. “I’m not angry, anyway. Just… mischievous.” She admits with a smile.

“It has been a little while since I heard you laugh, penneth.” Celeborn queries, watching as the elleth assesses Thranduil’s wound, humming and hawing about it. Over a month ago, her husband rode to war on his behalf and Elrond’s, then word had reached them that he had fallen and, ever since, the elfling’s light has been dimmer, and the world has been a worse place for it.

“Haldir is alive.” She explains, looking up at him with shining eyes and a beautiful smile on her face that was all Oropher.

“But-“

“It was a mistake.” she explains, finally appearing to decide the healers have done a good job, and instead, beginning to braid her brother’s hair, the way they had done as elflings. “Estel thought he saw Haldir killed in the battle, so Legolas ensured I was notified. But Haldir was discovered in the aftermath, near death, but not quite there.”

“Why has it taken so long for word to reach you?”

“Estel, Legolas, and Gimli, along with Mithrandir, left Helm’s Deep within hours of the fighting ceasing. I doubt even they are aware that Haldir survived.” Taeglin answers, a bright smile lighting up her face and he is honestly thankful to see it. “He has recovered enough to send me a letter, letting me know he is well. I don’t think even he knows that I thought him dead.”

“So, why are you being mischievous?”

“No reason.” The elleth replies, though he can hear the amusement in her voice.

“Very well, keep your secrets.” He mutters, smiling when she laughs at him.

“Thank you, I will.”

* * *

_He wonders if it is a curse of Oropher’s line, that the children would be forced to watch their mothers die, leaving the fathers to raise traumatized and grief-stricken children while they themselves were not much better. _

_Oropher had been catatonic the first few days since the sacking, since he had learnt that his beloved had not made it out. Nothing could pull him from his own grief, not even his children clinging to him so desperately. Until one day, he’d risen suddenly from his stupor and sealed his heart, only his closest and most beloved family members could break through. From that day onwards, he’d hated the naugrim and had nursed that hatred in Thranduil. _

_Celeborn had looked on and done his best to temper his nephew, but Oropher’s grief had swiftly turned to rage and he’d always had a glint of madness in his eyes from that day forward. _

_He knows, watching Thranduil try to drown himself in his wine, his grief so strong as to choke him, that history is all too happy to repeat itself._

* * *

Days after Taeglin arrives, Thranduil manages to finally remain in the waking world for longer than a few passing moments. Of course, none of them had realized this until Taeglin had looked down in the middle of a story and saw her brother frowning at her in confusion.

“Muindor, you are awake.” Taeglin exclaims, smiling brightly for her brother. Celeborn scrambles to Thranduil’s side, eager to determine for himself if the king is indeed awake.

“I thought you were in Lorien?” the king mumbles, his eyes full of confusion as he looks at his sister.

“We sent word to Taeglin and Legolas that you were injured.” Celeborn explains, smiling when the elfling turns his head towards him.

“You shouldn’t have-“

“We were not sure you would live, Thranduil.” Celeborn replies with a heavy sigh. “If you were to pass to Mandos’ halls, they at least deserved to say goodbye. Besides, your people need a king; if you fall, Legolas will replace you, but he cannot do that if he is on the other side of ennor.” he points out with a stern frown.

“Right.” The king grumbles, sighing and closing his eyes. “Since we’re all here, I assume we won?”

“Aye, Dol Guldur is no more and the darkness that once inhabited the forest is gone. Also, we have had word that Sauron has been defeated, for good this time. The One Ring is destroyed.”

“Good.” the king replies, before giving a little groan and pushing himself up, despite Celeborn and Taeglin both reaching out to try and push him back. “Bad enough I’m hurt, but I’m not going to just lie here!” Thranduil snaps at them both, until Taeglin sighs and helps her brother up.

“You are going to sit here and you are not going to try and stand.” She hisses at him, her eyes blazing with determination and the stubbornness of their blood line, Celeborn glances to Thranduil to see if the same stubbornness is burning in his eyes and he laughs at the sight. They had both inherited that particular quirk of their line.

“Immovable object meets irresistible force.” He says with sigh, leaning back to see who folds first, he'd often down the same with his little brothers.

* * *

_He’s known grief in his life, of course he has, but he didn’t ever realize it could be like this. Didn’t realize it could be so cloying as to suffocate, so vicious as to take his voice as well as his breath. Galadriel doesn’t seem to be in any better shape than he is. _

_Thranduil has warned them for years upon years, since the loss of his wife, that the roads were no longer safe. That Sauron was not completely gone, that his power was growing, that there was danger everywhere, you just had to know where to look. Thranduil had warned them, repeating his words over and over again until he was all but blue in the face as he screamed his warnings at them, but they hadn’t listened. _

_They’d named Thranduil as blinded by his grief over Oropher, over Lindariel, that he wasn’t able to see that sometimes bad things just happened, there didn't always have to be a reason. But Thranduil had been the only one of them seeing clearly, it seems, and now they have no one to blame but themselves. _

_Thranduil did his best to warn them, to protect them all, but so especially Celebrian, and they’d thrown his efforts back in his face until the elfling had retreated into his halls and refused them all his time and effort._

_And now, Celebrian is gone, not dead, but certainly knocking at Mandos’ door. Not dead, but never again to be the vibrant, shining light that she once was._

* * *

Neither sibling wins the staring war. Instead, they’re interrupted by excited chatter outside the tent. Thranduil immediately moves as if to stand with him, Celeborn hisses and gives him a stern glare, until the elfling subsides and remains in his place. Celeborn looks at Taeglin, certain she will remain to watch over her brother, then he turns and heads out of the tent to see what new event is happening.

He’s just in time to watch one of the great eagles landing, he’s curious as to what news they have to bring, until he notes the figures on the eagle’s back. Legolas and Gimli.

The pair carefully climb down from the eagle’s back, turning to offer their thanks to the eagle, before Legolas is turning, looking around the camp with half wild eyes until he sees him and the colour drains out of his face.

“Legolas, your father is well.” Celeborn soothes, quickly crossing to his side. “We were concerned in the beginning, but he is recovering.” He assures the princeling, who slumps in relief. “I will take you to him.” He says, leading them to the King’s tent. “As for you, Master Gimli, I’m sure my wife will be pleased to see that you have survived your journey.” He says to the dwarf, aware of how fond his wife is of the short one. Though, whether that is to do with the dwarves high regard of her, he cannot say. His wife can be just as vain as the rest of them when she wishes.

“Aye, I’m pleased to have survived.” Gimli replies with a chuckle as he trails along with him. “The lad and I have agreed to visit each other’s homes. We were planning to visit mine first, but…”

“Extenuating circumstances.” Celeborn murmurs with a nod, as he ushers Legolas into the King’s tent. “I imagine you’re probably best keeping in my wife’s presence or amongst my army, not Thranduil’s. Mirkwood’s dislike of dwarves still burns quite hot, despite the relations with Erebor, but our anger has had time to cool off.” He explains, leading the dwarf towards his own tent, which he hasn’t slept in since it was erected.

“I never did hear the story for Thranduil’s hatred of my kind.” The dwarf admits, following along. “Legolas refuses to tell me and Aragorn and his brothers look like startled deer whenever I ask.” Celeborn sighs heavily at the question, coming to a stop, Gimli almost smacking into him.

“You have heard of Doriath, Master Dwarf?” Celeborn queries, glancing down at his short companion.

“Aye. It is said King Thingol stole from the dwarves.” Gimli answers, though there is doubt in his voice, which is just as well.

“That is not true, Master Dwarf. My kinsman commissioned the dwarves to complete some jewellery work for him. The dwarves were happy to complete the work, until the Silmaril was involved. Then they decided that since the work was dwarven, it was theirs by right. My king and kinsman refuted this claim and the dwarves were expelled from the city. But they came back…” Celeborn pauses, remembers the screaming and the blood in the halls and Ranneth lying dead to the world. “Thranduil’s mother was murdered in the sacking, and he and his sister found her body. They were very young, too young; Thranduil could barely even hold his mother’s sword in their defence when I found them. He and his father hated dwarves ever since. I do not know if he will ever let his hatred rest.”

“Perhaps I should not be here, then.” Gimli murmurs, glancing uncertainly back towards the King’s tent. “I did not realize-“

“No, Master Dwarf, you are Legolas’ guest and therefore welcome here, besides, my wife would be upset if you left without even saying hello.” Celeborn argues, starting to walk once more. “Come along.”

* * *

_In the wake of Celebrian’s attack, Thranduil sends her a letter, wishing her a safe journey to Aman and requesting she speak with his parents if she finds them in Valinor. To Galadriel and Celeborn and Elrond, he sends nothing. No word, no mocking letter telling them he told them so; he does not need to. To them, he is silence, his sister’s cold anger finally making an impression upon him and a home in his heart, where it finds space to thrive. Mirkwood, that was once Greenwood, is closed to them.  
_

_It is a double blow to Celeborn, in a matter of weeks he has lost his daughter and the son of his heart. Were it not for Taeglin, he thinks he’d have escorted his daughter to her ship and then cast himself into exile. Taeglin, of course, laughs when he tells her this in desperation one day, she tells him that he’s definitely related to Thranduil with those dramatics. It startles a laugh out of him and he scares himself with the sound, having already become unused to the sound. Taeglin rolls her eyes at him and admonishes him for being a fool, before she tells him to go and tend to his wife. _

_Galadriel is faring better than he is, part of him thinks it is because she intimately knows the land their daughter is travelling for. Galadriel trusts that Celebrian will find peace and healing in Aman that she could not find here, but he doubts. Aman is, after all, just a place. The Undying Lands are undying because the people who dwell there are undying. Were it not for the dwarves, the hobbits, the men, and the various dark creatures that inhabit the land, Middle-earth could be an undying land, too. Yes, the Valar are in Aman, but the Valar have left the elves of Middle-earth to fend for themselves since the First Age, he doubts things are different in Aman. _

_But his Celebrian believes, and so does his wife, so he has no choice but to trust them. Besides, Celebrian is already gone, for her, there is no returning. _


	3. The Future's In Our Hands (and We Will Never Be the Same Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit shorter than I wanted it to be!! I did try to make it longer, but it just wasn't happening.
> 
> Chapter title from Things We Lost in the Fire by Bastille

The entire seven months he has been away from home has felt like an entire lifetime to him. It has not yet even been a year but he misses the sound of his father’s voice, misses the sight of the trees of his home, misses the way his healers fuss at him when he is hurt, he misses his friends. He misses the song of the forest sounding in the back of his mind every second of every day.

His entire life has changed in seven months and nothing will ever be the same, now he receives word that his father is hurt, that he may die, and he feels like all the air in the world has suddenly disappeared.

“Mellon nin?”

His father is the strongest person he knows in this world, stubborn and unyielding, reliable like stone, but as strong as the ancient trees in the forest. He cannot imagine a world without his father in it. But then, he hadn’t been able to imagine a world without his nana in it, either, until suddenly she was gone and he had no choice. Because the world did not suddenly stop turning because she stopped, no matter how many times he cried that it would.

“Mellon nin? Legolas!”

He startles and looks up into Estel’s concerned eyes, he summons a smile that he does not feel and tries not to choke on the words that _must _be spoken.

“My _father_ is hurt.” He says, his voice breaking over the words. “Celeborn warns that he might _die_.”

“When are we leaving?” Estel asks, a fire in his eyes but Legolas sighs and shakes his head. “Legolas-“

“You are a king now, my friend. You cannot leave your people so soon after claiming to be their leader and protector.” He points out, watches the way his friend slumps in disappointment and understanding. “I will go to my father; he will need me and so will our people. I will return when I am able.”

“Very well, mellon nin. Give my regards to your father.” Estel doesn’t say the words, but Legolas hears the ‘if he survives’ anyway.

* * *

Gimli, of course had refused to stay behind, even when Legolas had warned him ceaselessly that the elves may not welcome him with open arms while their king was so badly injured. Gimli had stubbornly claimed that he would be there as emotional support for his friend and wouldn’t hear another word about it.

So, the morning after the messenger arrives, a great eagle answers Legolas’ fervent pleas on the wind and agrees to carry them to Mirkwood. Gimli tries to engage him in conversation the entire journey, but Legolas’ thoughts are stuck only on one thing.

What good is defeating Sauron if his father is lost in the process?

* * *

Arriving in Mirkwood is both a relief and a nightmare. So much of his home is burning or burnt, and the singing of the trees in the back of his mind is full of so much sorrow, the way it had been when his nana had died.

_Maybe we’re already too late. _

The words swirl around and around in his mind as they finally land. He looks around the camp, searching for the King’s tent and instead finding Lord Celeborn. He has never seen his cousin so tired. Not when nana had died, and not when Cousin Celebrian had been so horrifically hurt. His cousin looks exhausted, like a strong wind will knock him over. The sight is enough to leave him feeling faint, all warmth suddenly sucked out of him.

_What if we're already too late?_

“Legolas, your father is well.” His cousin is quick to assure him, though Legolas doesn’t know what other words he says, as all noise seems to stop.

_My father is well. My father is well. My father is well. My father is well._

He follows Celeborn in a daze to the King’s tent, coherent thoughts skittering just at the edge of his awareness as he tries to think past the fact that his father is well. Well is subjective but at least it means ‘alive’. They’re not too late. _His father is alive._

He finds himself gently pushed into the King’s tent before he has a chance to prepare himself for what he might find. So, when he sees his aunt and his father talking softly to each other, their heads bent together, he lets out a little sigh of relief and collapses to his knees, the world whiting out for a single moment.

“Careful, elfling.” His aunt's voice whispers as she is suddenly at his side. “Your father is well, but if you knock yourself out, I’ll have a hard time keeping him in bed.” His aunt scolds, carefully helping him to his feet, then dragging him to his father’s side.

“Ada.”

“Tithen Las.” His father murmurs, looking at him like he has hung the moon. His father’s love has always been suffocating, but now he finds it chokes him in an entirely different way. For seven months he has not heard his father’s voice and now, right at the end of all the fighting, he almost was guaranteed not to hear it again.

“Ada.” He exclaims, all but launching himself as his father, forgetting in his relief and excitement that his father is hurt, as they both go down. His father gasping and groaning beneath him, his aunt yelling in surprise. “Oh!” He’s quick to scramble away, remembering suddenly that his father is injured and he doesn’t even know how, he looks over his father frantically until he sees the red patch beginning to seep through the bandages wrapped around his father’s middle. “Oh, Ada! I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright, Legolas.” His father soothes as his aunt pushes him gently out of the way so she can pull away the bandaging and access the wound.

“He’s just torn the stitches.” She murmurs, turning away to prepare a needle and threat, leaving Legolas free to stare at the wound. His father had been impaled, not just stabbed, if the wound was anything to go by. He looks up and around the tent, searching for his father’s armour, finding it discarded across the way, a great hole punched through it, right where the armour would have rested over the wound.

“Ada.” He whispers, feeling like he just might faint. That type of armour piercing, the strength behind it would need to have been immense, especially since his adar’s armour was specifically designed that spears and swords would slide away, rather than puncture. “I should have been here.”

“Oh, that’s enough of that.” His aunt exclaims, before his father can even speak. “One dramatic bastard is about all I can take today!” she tells them both, steely eyes looking between them. “War is desperate and dangerous, there is no guarantee your father wouldn’t have been hurt if you had been here, Legolas. He might well have died if you had been, and as I hear it, you’ve been off saving our world.”

“Yes, I have heard… things.” His father mutters, his head thrown back, and his teeth gritted in obvious pain as his aunt tends to the wound.

“Are you happy you weren’t standing, muindor?” his aunt queries her brother with a teasing lilt. “It would have been a longer way to fall.” She continues, laughing softly when his father grunts but doesn’t reply.

“I’m certain whatever stories you’ve heard are purely rumour.” Legolas says to his father, his eyes stuck on his aunt’s movements as she stitches his father back together.

“So, you didn’t face a Balrog in Moria? Because Celeborn has been quite happy to tell me that story…”

“Oh.” He mutters, looking away with a frown. “Maybe some of the stories are more than rumours...”

“Mhm.”

“But I’m well.” Legolas is quick to assure, his eyes moving to his father’s wound again. “Aragorn has been injured more than I have on the journey.”

“Throwing Estel to the wolves isn’t going to help you, penneth.” His father scolds, and he laughs, ducking his head.

“No, I know. But…” here he trails off and shakes his head with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Adar. I should have told you before I went off on the quest.”

“You should have, but you have survived. That’s all that I ask.” His father answers, squirming in obvious discomfort as his aunt continues her work.

“If I thought you’d take a pain tea, I’d give you one.” His aunt mutters, smirking at the incoherent grumbling she gets in response. “Then stop complaining."

“Adar?” Legolas asks, only to lose his voice when his father turns his head towards him. He considers not telling his father, but almost immediately discards the idea, his father deserves to know. “Adar, I’ve been to Pelargir. I’ve heard the gulls, father.”

“Oh, Legolas.” His father whispers, seeming to become smaller, like all the strength has suddenly left him. It is terrifying to witness for someone who has rarely ever seen his father cry or despair, not even after his Nana died, his father withrew into a bottle, became colder, but never small. Never like the fight had completely left him.

“Adar?”

“He’s fine, penneth. He’s just being his dramatic self.” His aunt comments with a little smile. “Besides, you’re not going to set sail anytime soon, are you?”

“No. I’ve promised Estel I will remain in Middle-earth for as long as he draws breath.”

“There you go, Thranduil. You’ve got time.” His aunt tries, but Legolas can see how despondent his father has become.

“Adar, I’m sorry.”

“Let me talk to him, Legolas.” He jumps at the unexpected voice and turns to find Celeborn standing in the entrance way. “I have left your friend with my wife, he is well. But I imagine your people would be heartened to see you, they might believe your word when you tell them that your father will live, since they don't appear to be believing mine.”

“Of course, cousin.” Legolas answers, looking back at his father just once before sighing and climbing to his feet. “I will return, Adar.” He says, before heading out of the tent, in search of Galion or the others of his father’s council.


	4. Sold My Life (To Bring the Rain)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am playing fast and loose with book and movie canon, and making a lot of things up as I go along, so like, be warned, I guess?
> 
> I'm kind of in the middle of a family reunion at the moment, but am hiding so...
> 
> Chapter title is from Sold My Soul by The Used

“He is leaving.” Thranduil mutters, the moment Legolas should be out of hearing range. Celeborn sighs at the heartbreak he can hear in his cousin’s voice. “He is leaving me.”

“Not for a few hundred years yet, penneth.” He answers, coming to sit down at Thranduil’s side and leaning over to look at Taeglin’s work. The wound looks as it did the first day, when the healers had determined they had done all they could, bandaged the king up, and announced that he would live or die by the will of the Valar. He wonders if Legolas has determined that, or if he’s assumed the wound has at least healed a little, but then, Celeborn doesn’t even know if Legolas knows of his father’s fate, bound to the forest, destined never to sail.

“He will leave, you will leave, everyone will leave and I will be here alone. Alone with my vow and my people, and my forest. Left to fade in the vastness of the Greenwood. The Last Elven-King East of the Sea.” Thranduil replies, his voice quiet and broken in a way Celeborn doesn’t remember hearing except in the aftermath of Ranneth, Oropher, and Lindariel’s deaths.

“I find it funny that you think you know my mind and my intentions, penneth.” He answers, sharing a glance with Taeglin, who looks away to hide a smile. “I have never _once_ said that I would sail.”

“But Celebrian-“

“Yes, Celebrian.” He answers with a sigh, cutting his cousin off before he can say anything further. “I wish to see my daughter once again, but I know that no matter how long I remain here, one day she and I will meet again. But I have no wish to see Aman. I will take the long road to her side.” A mortal death is not granted to their people, that was a gift Eru gave to men and dwarves and hobbits alone. It does not matter if he dies today or tomorrow of five thousand years from now. One day, he will awaken on the shores of Aman and he will finally be where his road has always lead, surrounded by people who were always going to wait for him, who were always going to see him again. Once he arrives in Aman; he is never leaving. Ennor has sheltered and cared for him for too long for him to abandon it now.

“I’m staying, too.” Taeglin puts in, tugging him from his thoughts as she finishes her work with the stitches, she begins to wrap fresh bandages around her brother.

“But Haldir-“

“Is alive.” Taeglin answers, smiling so brightly she could light up the darkest room. “I imagine my letter has reached him by now, telling him what I should have told him before I let him ride away from my side.”

“Oh, this thing you’re being mischievous about.” Celeborn murmurs, leaning forward in curiosity, feeling his heart warm at the smile she gives him. He’d never really noticed how often she smiles until suddenly she had stopped.

“The House of Oropher once more grows.” She answers, shining like a little sun in her happiness. She laughs when neither he nor Thranduil can think of what to say.

“You should not have come!” Thranduil finally blurts out, struggling to sit up and only accomplishing it with Celeborn’s reluctant help. “You should be-“

“Muindor, of the two of us, it was _I _who mastered healing. I am pregnant, not injured!” Taeglin argues, a scowl forming on her beautiful face. Celeborn laughs and rubs at his forehead, it has been awhile since he has had to chase elflings about, he finds he’s looking forward to it.

“Perhaps it’s twins.” He offers, watches the way the colour drains out of his cousin’s face and laughs again. “Congratulations, penneth.”

“If it is twins, I am naming one each after you both, so they will be your problems!” she exclaims, obviously remembering the trouble she and her brother had gotten up to over their lifetime, as well as the trouble their kinsmen have caused.

“As if they wouldn’t have been my problems anyway.” Celeborn argues, with a smile. “I have followed your bloodline from toddling years to adulthood and beyond since its inception with my brother.”

“This is true, so you won’t mind keeping my little one out of trouble.” Taeglin says, before turning to Thranduil. “So, _you_! You can stop your moping. We’re all staying, to whatever end awaits us.” She says, waving a finger at Thranduil like he is a wayward elfling caught with his hand in the sweets jar, Celeborn laughs, and Thranduil can’t help but laugh, too.

“I apologize for my… _dramatics, _muinthel.” He answers, before rubbing tiredly as his eyes, though Celeborn does not miss the grimace as his body shifts and pulls against his wounds. “Legolas was always meant for greater things, but I selfishly imagined he would stay. Remain in the Greenwood to keep his adar company, but that was never his future. Lindariel spoke of it to me when Legolas was still toddling about on legs not yet accustomed to walking. Lindariel warned me that her child would one day leave our forest and his heart would not come back and I stubbornly refused to accept it.”

“When have you ever accepted anything that you did not like with grace?” Taeglin scoffs, and Celeborn can’t help but agree. Accepting ill tidings has never been a virtue of Oropher’s bloodline, to be quite honest, it has never been a virtue of _Elmo_’s line.

“I do not believe it is a quality I possess.” Thranduil concedes, with a little smile, before he frowns down at his bandaged stomach, a glare forming. “Why am I not healing? I feel as bad as I did when I was attacked!”

“Muindor, you _are_ the forest.” Taeglin points out, her voice suddenly become soft, quiet, and concerned. “You tied your fate to the fate of your forest; do you not remember?”

“I remember, but what does that have to do with anything?” Thranduil queries, sounding utterly and completely out of his depth and Celeborn frowns.

“Oh, _right_. The forest around us is _dead!” _Taeglin exclaims and Celeborn realizes their misstep.

“You haven’t _seen_ the damage to the forest yet, have you?” he queries, sighing and closing his eyes when Thranduil shake his head. “Thranduil, the forest is on fire. The blaze is contained, but still burning quite ardently. You share your life with the forest and it shares its life with you. You are both injured and while the blaze continues to burn, you are stuck in limbo, it is why we did not know if you would survive. You are both dangling on the edge and I don’t think this will change until the fire is snuffed out.” 

“The fire could burn for a long time, Celeborn.” Thranduil argues, struggling like he wants to stand, but unable to find the strength, Celeborn makes no move to help him and neither does Taeglin, so, eventually, the king gives in with a groan, pressing his hand down over the bandages and grumbling quietly under his breath.

“I am aware.” Celeborn answers with another small sigh and a shake of his head. “But there isn’t anything else we can do.

“Yes, there is.” Taeglin offers, looking between them. “Split the forest from the mountains down.”

“What?” he and Thranduil both exclaim, but Taeglin just grins.

“Lorien is tied to Galadriel and her ring. The forest will begin to diminish and will fail once she takes ship. If you split the forest, give the burning half to Celeborn, you’ll begin to heal.”

“_Thanks_, penneth.” Celeborn mutters, not sure how he feels about the idea of suddenly tying himself to a forest that is dead or dying and that has been such for millennia and that would leach away at his strength and his soul until it was once more healed.

“You can give it back later if you want.” Taeglin advises them, shrugging her shoulders. “It would solve your healing issue, Thranduil, and it would give your people a place to call home should they choose to stay, Celeborn.” She points out, her grin only growing when he sighs.

“You are not wrong.” Celeborn answers, sharing a look with Thranduil who sighs and nods.

“Very well. Since I doubt either of you will actually take me to a living tree, Celeborn will have to go and plead his case to the forest, himself. With my blessing, of course.” Thranduil says, with a teasing grin. “Taeglin, you should probably go with him, since he’ll have need of you.”

“What am I missing?”

“Were you not present when Galadriel tied herself to Lorien?” Taeglin queries, her eyes shining with glee and mischief.

“I wasn’t.” he answers carefully, looking between them with narrowed eyes. “Come, elflings, tell me this secret.”

“Hmm, no I don’t think I will.” Thranduil answers, the same mischief and glee in his eyes that is in his sister’s and in this moment, they have never been more alike. “You will find out, cousin.”

“I will go in search of someone to sit with you, muindor.” Taeglin says, before quickly seeing herself out.

“You’re really not going to tell me?” He queries with a frown, before smirking. “I could just go and ask my wife, you know?”

“I think she would laugh and hurry you on your way. Your sweet wife has her own uses for mischief sometimes.” Thranduil replies, and Celeborn hates that he is correct. His wife can spin mischief with the best of them; he would know.

“If this is going to put me flat on my back, don’t you think we should at least tell our people? Or they might start worrying that I’m dying, too.” He queries, but his cousin just shakes his head.

“They’ll be fine.” The king assures, somehow Celeborn doesn’t find any relief in it.

* * *

_“Penneth.” Celeborn exclaims, when he is finally shown to Thranduil’s study. It looks nothing like how Oropher had kept it, but then, Oropher had kept his study in a strange state of ordered chaos that had reminded Celeborn so much of his brother, that he’d always felt a sense of loss stepping into the room. Thranduil, on the other hand, has gone for cleanliness and efficiency, that Celeborn is sure has more to do with Galion than Thranduil. He rather doubts Thranduil had cared.  
_

_“Cousin.” Thranduil answers, not looking up from the delicate crown held in his hands, it is a new one, crafted just for him by the very trees that have now come into his keeping. Oropher’s crown had been crafted for him and him alone, Thranduil had never worn it, not even in the years since they had lost Oropher and there hadn’t been time to forge a crown for Thranduil. Instead, his cousin had worn his silver circlet, that was more fitting for a prince or a lord, than a king, or he had worn nothing in his hair at all except the warrior braids more common amongst his mother’s people. Thranduil hadn’t cared, Celeborn doesn’t think he even cares now. _

_“They tell me you have sworn your life to the forest, that you will never sail, that you will live and die with the Greenwood?” he demands, ruthlessly wrenching his thoughts back to the reason he has come. _

_“Aye, that’s true.” Thranduil answers, running his fingers over the green leaves and small white flowers interwoven throughout the crown. Celeborn doesn’t think he will ever understand just what goes into the creation of such crowns. Oropher’s crown had been of the forest as well, a beautiful beech entwined with small red and gold flowers. Both crowns were alive and thriving in a way Celeborn couldn’t understand, but he supposes Yavanna might have taken some interest in their work, who could say for certain?_

_“Why have you done this?” he queries, pulling his eyes from the crown in Thranduil’s hands, ironically, he’s apparently as fascinated with the crown as its owner appears to be. “You can’t- you can leave the forest, but you will always have to come back. Why would you make such a vow?” _

_“Lindariel has had a vision.” Thranduil replies, breathing in deeply and finally lifting his eyes from the crown he’s spinning between his fingers. Celeborn’s breath abandons him at the raw emotions he sees in the elfling’s eyes. Fear, sorrow, regret, and so much more that Celeborn cannot name, but he also sees _acceptance, _and it is the acceptance that scares him. _

_“What did she see?” he asks, finding his voice suddenly softer than he intended in the face of such intense emotion. Thranduil looks back down at the crown in his hands and Celeborn sucks in a breath. _

_“If I do not bind myself to the forest, it will die. There is an evil that will grow in the forest, a shadow that will threaten to engulf us all. If I do not bind myself to the forest, we will all fall. If I do not stand against the evil, we will all fall.” Thranduil explains, but he just sounds tired, so weary it makes Celeborn ache with an unnatural exhaustion. Celeborn wants to ask what the evil is that will grow, but he doesn't dare.  
_

_“Why you?” _

_“The Silvan will have no one else.” Thranduil replies, and that’s all that really needs to be said. Oropher ruled at the will of the Silvan elves, who were his subjects, Thranduil now does the same. If the Silvan will not have anyone else, Thranduil will not abandon them. Thranduil will do whatever he must to protect them, to care for them, to shelter them, because they shelter him, they protect him, they care for him. _

_Galadriel has whispered to him that Thranduil will become the greatest king the Silvan have ever had. He doesn’t know what his wife has seen, but he believes her, trusts explicitly in her word, so, he realizes, this must play some part in it. He wants to argue, that Galadriel will be tying herself to Lorien, but that it will not keep her from sailing, but he already knows that argument will not stand. Galadriel has Nenya to protect them, Thranduil has only the strength of his will, the blood of his people, and his own life to offer. _

_Doriath had Melian’s Girdle to protect them, and even she hadn’t been enough. He wants to argue that Thranduil has sworn himself to a predictable and preventable end, but he cannot. Thranduil is King of Greenwood, now, just as he himself is Lord of Lorien, he will do whatever he must to protect his people and his home, so he cannot fault his cousin for doing the same. But he wants to, oh how he wants to. _

_He wants to scream at the Valar that they take too much and give too little in return, but the Valar did not force these choices upon them. The choices were placed before them and they are the ones who decided what choice was right. _

* * *

“I couldn’t find Legolas.” Taeglin says, as she comes back into the tent with Rumil and Orophin, who both wave happily at both their lord and brother-in-law. “Well, that’s not true, I _could _find Legolas, but he’s busy assuring all our people that you aren’t dying, muindor.” She corrects, and Celeborn laughs and rolls his eyes.

“He probably would have thanked you for rescuing him.” Thranduil points out, but Rumil snorts.

“If the_ Princess_, goes and retrieves the _Crown_ _Prince, _while he’s in the middle of assuring everyone that the _King_ is well, the people will assume the King is actually _not well at all.” _Rumil bravely points out, his brother sighing beside him.

“He’s not wrong. It’s bad enough the King isn’t even accepting visitors, but now the Prince is being fetched after only just taking his leave?” Orophin explains, with a grin as he goes to sit beside the King.

“Come along, Hir-nin. Let’s leave the boys to talk while we go and tie you to the forest.” Taeglin murmurs, reaching out and taking his arm. “We’ll be back later, muindor. Do _not _do anything I would disprove of.” She warns, before she’s all but dragging Celeborn away.

* * *

He doesn’t really know how he finds himself at a copse of living trees. He feels like he blinked and suddenly he was there, but he knows that isn’t the truth. Taeglin is just a whirlwind of energy and motion that if feels that way.

“Shouldn’t we have told Galadriel before we did this?” he queries, looking at the healer who has brought such happiness to their home after the loss of his daughter.

“Oh, I ducked in and told her when I was grabbing the boys.” Taeglin assures him with a smile. “Your Lady Wife laughed and told you to have fun.”

“She did not!”

“She absolutely did!” Taeglin replies, before nudging him towards the trees which are all -silently- watching them. So, he sighs and steps forward, resting his palm against the bark of the tree in front of him and closing his eyes.

Communing with the trees is always awkward. Only the Ents had really grasped the means to communicate as the elves did. Though, to hear Taeglin and Thranduil speak of things, the trees apparently have a lot to say to any who knows how listen, but then, Ranneth had been Moriquendi. Her people had long ago learnt all there was to know about the trees and the green and growing things of the world.

He doesn’t know what the forest thinks of him as he fills his mind with his intentions, and Thranduil’s, and opens his mind up to the forest. The plea to allow the forest below the Mirkwood Mountains to become tied to him, to share his life and let Thranduil go free. He shares the image of Thranduil’s wound, still as angry and raw as the day he received it, the stitches the only thing holding the wound together, keeping his blood inside. He shares his intention to remain in Middle-earth long after his wife and far too many of his people have left. He shares his intention to one day pass the forest back into Thranduil’s keeping, or to Taeglin’s or her children’s, if that is their wish. He shares his intention to protect the forest as Thranduil has, and as Oropher did before him. He shares his will to be tied to life of the forest, that their fates may become intimately bound.

Suddenly, there’s a dizzying array of thoughts, images, and feelings skittering across his mind that are not his own. He’s always had an echo of the trees in his mind whenever he has entered any of the forests of Middle-earth, but nothing like this. Nothing of this cacophony of noise and colour and feeling that he struggles to sift through, to understand. Then suddenly there is silence. An uncomfortable, tense kind of silence. Suspenseful. Waiting.

He wants to open his eyes and ask Taeglin if this is supposed to happen but before he can do that, he feels suddenly like he is on fire, and deep within him, he feels his soul ache and _shift, _suddenly becoming more. The silence breaks and there is screaming in the back of his mind, rolling and encompassing agonized screaming that accompanies the burning. Behind the screaming, there is a song, some kind of melody that is missing large chunks of… some sort of noise that should be there. He doesn’t know what noise is missing, only that something _is, _and the screaming seems to have taken its place.

Then, he’s falling and there is nothing.


End file.
